


i will hold your heart and your gun

by lacecat



Series: on the run verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Breaking Out of Plantation, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Is Gay, Fix-It, Implied Sexual Content, James is both proud and terrified for him, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Finale, Thomas has become more badass, implied eventual ot4, implied silverflintmadi, thomas is basically the center of his clique and james is his cute boyfriend and everyone knows it, treasure island? i don't know her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: “I should show you something,” Thomas says, and whatever James expects, it’s not for him to rotate the small bookshelf in the corner of the room, revealing a dug out hole in the wall with at least a dozen blades in it.James gapes as Thomas picks one of the knives up. He can also see one or two pistols stashed away in there as well, from his limited sight, as Thomas says, “I’m the only one with a bookshelf, you see.”“You are allowed guns, knives, but not a razor?” James says weakly, but he knows the answer even before Thomas’s mouth curls up.“Of course not. This is strictly against the rules of this place, though I suppose all manners of rebellion are,” Thomas says casually, and James stares at him.[in which Thomas had been planning an escape before he and James were reunited, and well, James isn't quite retired from the life after all]





	

**Author's Note:**

> (it had to be done okay, because there is 0% chance that they spent too much time on that plantation, and also I had to work in the suggestion of my new favorite ot4 again)
> 
> (also the title is from Part II (On The Run) because #relevant lmao)

Some time later, they had eventually let go of each other just enough to breathe air that was separate from each other. James keeps his hand on the back of Thomas’s head though, every catch of short hair on his rough surface of his palm another reminder that he isn’t dreaming, that this is real. 

 

Thomas, for his part, has one hand on the side of James’ neck, the other curled around his back, even as they hear someone approach to their side. Thomas turns to talk to the man, who, out of all things, actually looks apologetic to interrupt them. 

  
The man tells Thomas that he should bring him to his living quarters, and James is still so unused by this feeling of being utterly, deliriously happy _\- Thomas is alive_ _-_ on the entire way to the long building that he just barely registers the fact that Thomas’s room has a lock on the outside, or that there’s a clear absence of heavy, blunt objects in the room. 

 

The room is clean but sparse, with a few books on the shelves, a single bed pressed up against the wall, and a small desk and basin in the corner. It reminds James of the quarters he had used back in London, before he had met Thomas and Miranda, another form of cage he is only now emerging from. 

 

He notices the lock clicking behind them as the man leaves, but he stores that away for now. There are much more important things to focus on, such as the new marks and wrinkles that are visible on Thomas’s skin, the way he’s looking at James with so much love in his eyes that he can barely breathe when they make eye contact again. Thomas reaches out, touches the side of his face lightly, and James lets himself lean into the touch. 

 

“I can arrange for you to get one of the cots, if you’d like,” Thomas says then, running his thumb down his face before letting him go. “If that would make you more comfortable,” and he looks at the closed door then, “Samuel might be coming by in a few hours.” 

 

Instead, James wordlessly holds out his hand in response, his heart thrilling at the soft touch when Thomas takes it. The other man’s brow furrows for a moment before relaxing when he sees that James leads him to the small bed. He’s spent too long alone in a bed, James thinks, and although he can’t form the words, he thinks Thomas might understand. 

 

He manages to kick off his boots before swinging his feet up, suddenly aware of just how tired he is as soon as he hits the mattress. It’s not particularity comfortable, the mattress having a bit too much give, but at this point, he thinks he could fall asleep on a large boulder. Thomas follows him, waiting until James is settled before lying down besides him, his knees touching James’s calves as he rolls onto his side to look down on James’s face. 

 

James wants to say something, anything, his his eyelids are already feeling heavy. He blinks slowly as Thomas’s face slowly grows blurry above him, watching him fall asleep. 

 

Thomas reaches out, runs a hand over his short hair, and he sighs at the touch. “Sleep now,” Thomas says fondly. “We can talk tomorrow.”

 

James laces his fingers through Thomas’s, feeling heaviness tug him down into the depths of slumber. He falls asleep just like that, Thomas’s hand warm in his, the faintly spicy, earthy smell of the plantation’s mud following him into his dreams. 

 

 

•••

 

 

There are muffled voices somewhere to his left when he stirs, but he can’t piece together the words, not when his entire body is bathed in warmth, in a scent he is already re-imprinting into his memory as Thomas’s. The men are muttering, something strangely urgent about their tone. He’s just about to get up when he can hear Thomas’s voice, low and sure, and then the voices stop after he finishes speaking, the door closing once more. 

 

James can hear Thomas sigh, and he lifts his head then from the pillow. “Thomas?” he croaks, his voice rough from disuse ever since the ship had landed in Savannah. 

 

There’s a hand in his hair, as Thomas sits on the bed beside him. “I’m here,” he says. “I apologize if I woke you.” 

 

“No need to apologize,” James says immediately. “Come back to bed?”

 

Thomas acquiesces, moving so that he’s lying beside him once more. He already smells faintly of sweat, which James gathers is going to be a common occurrence from the heat that seems to hang over Savannah, more so than even in Nassau. “For you, I’d do anything,” Thomas says, and James can feel him inhaling where his face is pressed onto the top of his head, before he moves up. “Do you want some water?” 

 

“Is my presence in here causing you problems?” James asks instead, willing his drowsiness to ebb away just a bit so that he can form the question. 

 

“Not at all,” Thomas murmurs in response, sounding both fond and sad. “You should sleep more. I’ve been granted a day off to look after you, so don’t worry about me.” 

 

James doesn’t want to go back to sleep, not when he has Thomas right there and there are things he needs to tell him, questions that need to be answered. But Thomas is warm and strong at his side, and there are no men to be fought, no wars to be waged here, so he can feel sleep pull him away once more. “You should hold me again,” he tells Thomas, who huffs a laugh and drapes an arm over him, squeezing gently as he does so. 

 

“Of course, my love,” Thomas whispers, and then he’s falling asleep once more. 

 

 

•••

 

 

The room is much darker the next time he wakes up, so he has to strain his eyes before he can see anything.

 

Thomas is next to him in bed, a book in his lap, and his profile is illuminated by a lone candle on the side table. He glances over as if on instinct, and smiles again when he sees James is awake. “The sun just set,” he says, setting his book down on his lap. “You must be hungry.” 

 

Thomas twists so that he can pass him a plate from the side table, which James accepts. There’s a thick hunk of bread and slices of dried apple, which he devours, barely restraining himself from licking his fingers. Thomas also hands him a cup of water, and the cool liquid refreshes him as he drinks. 

 

Thomas watches him all the while, and as James swallows his last bite of food, he can feel the tips of his ears pink. “What is it?” he says, making sure his mouth is clean of crumbs. 

 

“I’m just looking at you,” Thomas says softly. “I didn’t think I would ever get the opportunity to just study your face, to have you in my bed. I’ve don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to be wrong before in my life.” 

 

James can feel his face stretch into a small smile, the muscles unused and unfamiliar, but with the way that candlelight is making Thomas glow here in the dark, he thinks he will get more use out of them after all. “You grew a beard,” he realizes, and he reaches out to touch it. 

 

“And you lost your hair,” Thomas says in reply. “We’ve both changed, haven’t we?”  


 

The words make the smile on James’s face die down, and he looks down at Thomas’s hands, at the long fingers that are curled around the book still. “We should talk.”

 

“We should,” Thomas says, but then there’s a determined look in his eye. “But first-” and he’s leaning forward and capturing James’s mouth in a kiss. James forgets what he was going to say as he feels Thomas’s mouth, hot and firm on his, his tongue swiping on James’s bottom lip in a maneuver that makes goosebumps rise all over his arms. He groans before he can silence the sound, but then he remembers that it’s just them in this room, that they don’t need to hide. Thomas bites lightly on his lip, and James shudders at the drag of his teeth. 

 

Thomas pulls away after a few minutes. “We will talk,” he says as James gasps, feeling Thomas’s hand slide underneath his shirt as he can just about feel the blood rush from his brain, “But I think now that you’re awake, I ought to do this before wasting another minute dreaming about it.”

 

James laughs, breathlessly, at his teasing tone, even as Thomas’s clever fingers work his shirt up, and he’s quick to pull at Thomas’s own clothes in reply. “God, I love you,” James says, and he realizes as they come out that it’s the first time he’s said those words to him in over ten years, and his shudders turn into something less to do with arousal, and more with emotion. “ _Thomas_. I thought you were dead for so long, God-”

 

Thomas pauses in his hurried motions to strip him of his clothing, wipes away a tear that slides down his cheek. “I love you too,” he says, ducking his head to press another kiss, softer and less intense onto his mouth, his eyes closing as he breathes James in. “Always.”

 

 

•••

 

 

He wakes up again in the strange bed, and Thomas is asleep at his side then, his hand thrown over James’s chest. James stretches, relishing in that familiar ache, and closes his eyes once more.

 

The sunshine is warm on his face, coming in from the window, and he only stiffens slightly when he hears heavy footsteps go by the door. There’s a sharp knock, and Thomas is already awake once more, getting up before James can even move. The door opens just as Thomas gets there, blocking James from sight with his broad shoulders. 

 

“Thank you, Samuel,” Thomas says, and the door shuts as he turns around, now carrying a full basin. The muscles in his arms jump attractively, and James pushes himself up to his elbows as he watches Thomas set down the basin. 

 

“The water’s cold but fresh, if you’d like,” Thomas says, running a hand over his short beard. “I have a spare shirt for you as well.”

 

“Thank you,” James says, strangely unsure as he stands up. “Do you happen to have a razor?”

 

Thomas shakes his head. “Not allowed,” he says, and James is once again reminded that they are in fact inmates. “But I can get you something in a bit.”

 

“That’s all right,” James says, touching his own beard now. “Though I’ll thank you now not to laugh when my hair starts to grow back in.”

 

Thomas snorts, and the sound makes James feel light all over again, and he grins to himself as he gets up. 

 

“I’ll be showing you around the place before we start working,” Thomas tells him as he splashes cold water on his face. James had washed some of the blood and dirt of the few weeks back on the ship, but as he scrubbed his face in the bright room, he could already see how the water was becoming darker. “This week, we are mainly tilling and sorting seeds to plant.” 

 

“Is the owner a decent man?” James asks, eyes closed as he wipes off his face.

 

“He is,” Thomas says, but doesn’t say anything else when James turns to face him. He hands a white shirt to James, who puts it on, before pulling on his trousers as well. 

 

James is surprised that the shirt fits, even baggy on him. While Thomas is taller, he has also gained hard muscle over the years, completely different from the pale, soft flesh that James remembers from London. He thinks of last night, when he had mouthed over the new bulk of his arms and his chest, marveling at the easy strength in which Thomas could likely hoist him up with. He flushes slightly at the thought, and Thomas smiles slowly as if he knows what James is thinking of. 

 

But then there’s another heavy knock on the door, and James finishes tucking his shirt in as Thomas crosses the room. The door opens, revealing the man from before- Samuel- who glances between the two of them.

 

“You’ll help with in the kitchen today,” he says to James, who casts a glance at Thomas in reflex. 

 

Thomas doesn’t frown, but he certainly doesn’t look happy, his expression just a touch too measured. “I thought he was to work with me in the fields?”  


 

“He will, once he’s fully recovered,” Samuel says not unkindly, looking at the way that James is favoring his leg- still sore from the fight with Billy several days ago- even as he stands there. 

 

James stiffens upright, though, when he sees how Thomas’s jaw tightens for a moment. But then he’s stepping back to take James’s hand for a moment. “I’ll see you for supper,” Thomas says, before casting an unreadable look at Samuel, and then they’re all stepping out of the room. 

 

James feels something inside him pull as Thomas walks away, even as the other man glances a few times back at him, but then Samuel is steering him in the other direction. “Unbelievable, you lot,” he mutters, and now James can feel his hackles rise.  


 

“Excuse me?” he says icily, despite the fact that he knows he is in no position for a fight.He glances down the hall again, but Thomas has disappeared from sight. He tries to tamp down the worry that it brings him. Thomas isn’t going anywhere, he tries to reason, and it’s only because of the guard walking around that he doesn’t try to force Samuel away, running after Thomas instead. 

 

Samuel rolls his eyes as they walk down the long corridor. “Don’t be starting with me, lad. I have no bother with you and him.”

 

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t find that convincing,” James retorts, and is surprised when the other man laughs.

 

  
“I see why he’s been mooning over you all this time,” he says. “You’re just as he said.” 

 

James frowns. “He told you about me?” 

 

“He told all of us about you,” Samuel says. “Here, this is the kitchen-” and he’s pushing James through the door, much to his indignation, before he can ask again. 

 

It’s brighter in the kitchen, and there are several men already at work. The air is thicker and hotter in here, from the fire in the corner as well as the tall windows where light is streaming in from. There’s a guard at the far end, sitting in a chair, and James’s eyes catch on the sight of the gun at his hip. 

 

Samuel claps him on the back, and James misses the days when men looked at him with pure fear in their eyes. “Marcos, you’ll be showing James here the ropes,” he decides, and a dark-haired man looks up from where he was cutting carrots in a large pile. 

 

He grimaces, which James doesn’t take too personally, and motions to the knife beside him. James takes it, and when Marcos pushes some of the vegetables towards him, he copies his motions, slowly chopping. The gesture reminds him of cooking with Miranda back in Nassau for a moment, the muscle memory coming back with the thick weight of the knife in his hand, and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek. 

 

Samuel leaves, and the guard casts a bored look at James before turning back to staring at the ceiling. Marcos doesn’t say a word, as they cut side by side. James wonders for a brief moment what his crew would think, if they saw their captain now, and he thinks about Silver smirking at him across a map, mixing a bowl of spices. He bites his cheek even more at the memory, and focuses on the vegetables. 

 

Before long, though, there’s another man coming up to his other side, and James has to resist his urge to flinch, especially now that there’s a knife in his hand. 

 

“So you’re James,” the man says quietly, probably so the guard doesn’t hear. 

 

James casts a look to him, but doesn’t say anything. The man snorts. “Right, then, I’ll just fuck off, then.” His voice is crisp, sounding right off the streets of London. “Marcos doesn’t talk much, he’s the only Spaniard around here. Do you speak it?” 

 

“No,” James tells him, picking up another carrot to chop. It’s only partially a lie. He can read Spanish fine, but his conversational ability was always limited to phrases like _Where is your captain?_ and _We will sink this ship with all of you tied to the masts._

 

“That’s a right shame. Thomas is the only one who can talk to him.” The man sets down his bowl, pushing hair out of his eyes. “I’m Edward Percy.”

 

James grunts. Percy pays his reluctance no mind, though. “That over there is Richard- don’t call him Dicky, though- and that’s Charles, and in the back there’s Joshua.”

 

James glances up at him, then, and Percy studies him. “Thomas spoke often about you to me,” he says. “He’s a good man.”

 

“I know that,” James says before he can help himself. 

 

“He speaks, then,” Percy says. “I can only assume that you are also the feared Captain-”

 

He stops when James’s knife gets very close to his hand. He doesn’t move, though, and the guard doesn’t notice when James hisses in his ear, “I don’t go by that name anymore.”

 

“Fair enough,” Percy says, and James would admire him in another context in the way he’s still looking coolly at him without fear. “I do hope you understand what this man has done for you.”

 

James looks at him sharply, guard be damned. “What do you mean?”

  
“He’s spent the past several years on his plan, only to throw it all away as soon as you stepped through those gates,” the man says, steadily looking him right in the eye. “If we didn’t need that man so much- if I didn’t owe him- you’d be dead right now.” He picks up the bowl again, as James contemplates this new particular piece of information. 

 

Marcos glowers when James casts a look at him, and he cuts more harshly on the carrot in his hands. James just shoots him a look back. He’s fine with the silence, after all, even if means Percy’s words churning through his mind.

 

 

•••

 

 

The work is not difficult, even though James’s arms are aching by the end from carrying pots and pans and cleaning all day. If anything, he appreciates the menial labor as a way for him to keep his hands busy while he tries to focus his thoughts.

 

Suppertime comes soon, and the men file out of the kitchen, walking back down the long corridor to a more open space, filled with tables. The sight of familiar blond hair is enough to bring a violent rush of relief to James, his heart thudding just like it did when he saw him again for the first time across that field. Thomas is at one of the full tables, seated at the end, and his head turns to meet James’s gaze within a few steps. 

 

James slides to sit across from him, whispers, “We need to talk.” Thomas nods, briefly, glancing at the small group of guards around the room, as they all begin to eat. 

 

“Tonight,” he promises, and his ankle pressed up against James’s under table does provide some comfort. 

 

He doesn’t fail to notice how there are men whispering around them, looking at Thomas and him, even as Thomas only looks at him.

 

 

•••

 

 

James waits until the door is closed- the guard locking them both into the room- before coming close to Thomas. Thomas lets him put his hands on his shoulders, and James considers his words before speaking.

 

“I met a man by the name of Percy in the kitchen today,” he says slowly. “He said you had been planning something that had been disrupted by my arrival.” 

 

Thomas lets out a long exhale, but there’s still a fond expression in his eyes as he looks at James. “I should show you something,” Thomas says, and whatever James expects, it’s not for him to rotate the small bookshelf in the corner of the room, revealing a dug out hole in the wall with at least a dozen blades in it. 

 

James gapes as Thomas picks one of the knives up. He can also see one or two pistols stashed away in there as well, from his limited sight, as Thomas says, “I’m the only one with a bookshelf, you see.”

 

“You are allowed guns, knives, but not a razor?” James says weakly, but he knows the answer even before Thomas’s mouth curls up.

 

“Of course not. This is strictly against the rules of this place, though I suppose all manners of rebellion are,” Thomas says casually, and James stares at him. 

 

“Thomas- _you’re planning a rebellion?”_

 

“Before you got here, I was making arrangements for the men to gather and take control of the plantation. I wasn’t planning on living out my days here, and I found mutual thoughts in others as well. They needed someone to head the operation, and I do have a lot of expertise in convincing others.”

 

“Thomas,” James says again, “How on earth did you even manage to organize this?”  


 

“Well, it helped that I convinced Samuel in the first few months after I arrived, who has just about free reign in this place,” Thomas says. “He’s also the one that delivers letters, so once he was on my side, he could deliver my messages to the others. Did you know Marcos was part of the Spanish intelligence before he was exiled to be here? He was useful in encrypting letters in case the guards opened one of ours.”

 

James doesn’t quite make a strangled sound, but he can feel his jaw slacken as he processes all of this. Thomas puts back the knife and slides the bookshelf back, as he asks, “You planned all of this?” 

 

“I did,” Thomas says, straightening. “This may be no Bedlam, no slave plantation, but this is not freedom.” Something strange comes over his expression then, half-lost in memory and half dark, and James would burn the world to make sure it never crosses his face again.

 

“Percy said that you stopped when I arrived. Why is that?” James asks, spinning one of the rings on his fingers. “It isn’t some sort of misguided attempt to protect me, is it?” 

 

Thomas smiles at him, sadly. “I spent a number of years thinking that you were dead. Now that I have you by my side, the prospect of living behind bars is far less dark, I suppose. I told the others that our plans would be delayed while you recovered. They weren’t happy, but I’ll admit, I have set up our organization so that I am a necessary player if anything is to happen, out of no coincidence.” 

 

James blinks. “Thomas?” 

 

“Yes, James?”

 

“Your plan is going to be back on. We’re going to break out of here,” James says, taking a step towards him, then another until they’re close, Thomas’s eyes widening. “We’re going to lead all these men, we’re going to tear down those fucking gates, and then we’re going somewhere secluded where neither of us have to leave our bed for _weeks_.”

 

“Here I thought I was going to have to convince you,” Thomas says, brushing his nose against his teasingly, and James draws him in for a long kiss. He’s not sure what about Thomas being the mastermind of some definitely uncivilized behavior is so alluring, but he’s been long gone on Thomas Hamilton, he figures that it’s not worth thinking about too hard when Thomas is right there in front of him and he could be doing _this_ instead.

 

Before long, Thomas is breaking away with a laugh, even as James tries to chase after his mouth once more. “More of that later, darling. For now, we have a plan to form,” he says, and James leans up for another quick kiss anyways. He’s learned to live in the moment, after all.

 

 

•••

 

 

James is both deeply disturbed and terribly impressed at just how efficient Thomas is in planning an uprising. He thinks if Thomas were at his side in Nassau, they could have been watching London burn years ago. Objectively, he knows that he had years to prepare, but to see him in action is something else, and a not too small part of him actually enjoys it. 

 

Thomas has knowledge of all the guards schedules, including their shift changes, and their tendencies to either doze off or ignore sections of the fields while patrolling. The inmates are allowed an hour of free time at night, so Thomas takes that time to lead James by the hand- looking all like they’re merely escaping for a lover’s rendez-vous- to each corner of the plantation, showing him weaknesses in the gate, gaps in the watch, as James studies and plans with him.

 

The owner was smart, though, in organizing just enough guards in shifts so that they can’t merely just kill the current ones and break through the gate. He also makes sure there are always men in their rooms or locked away, presumably as some sort of collateral. There are more guards inside the house, where the owner of the plantation lives, who can keep on eye on the entire operation, and who likely has access to far more weaponry than they could dream to collect. 

 

“How did you get all those weapons, anyways?” James has to ask, as he and Thomas are poring over observations that Thomas has received via letter, smuggled in a newspaper Samuel had brought for Thomas. 

 

Thomas shrugs. “I’m allowed into the library once a month. There’s a cabinet with vintage guns that has been forgotten, so I took a few over time that no one would notice has gone missing. We need gunpowder and bullets for them, but I suppose that once we take down the first few guards, that won’t be an issue.” 

 

“And the knives?” James asks. 

 

Thomas grins at him, open and carefree, which is something considering they are plotting a dangerous future. “Pick-pocketed them, with others. Marcos taught me.”

 

James stares for half a moment before pulling Thomas by the front of his shirt into a kiss over the desk. “You,” he says, between kisses, “Are going,” and he captures Thomas’s laugh mid-kiss, “To be the death of me.” 

 

What skills that Thomas lacks, James compliments him in. Thomas knows the ins and outs of the plantation, has gained the trust of the other men, but James brings with him skills from outside the gates that are just as useful. He points out that with the layout of the plantation, they would need to work their way from inside out, starting with the largest concentration of men in a group. 

 

In one of the secret meetings- Samuel at the door, as Percy looks over the sketch that Thomas made of the plantation, James adds, “We’re going to need to convince far more than your current numbers if we’re going to be successful. They just need to lock us in place, keep us confined until they can call the town militia, and then we’re done for.”

 

Percy looks at Thomas with a raised eyebrow. “Your boy’s good at this,” he says to Thomas, who beams. 

 

“I’m not _his boy_ ,” James says then, glaring when Percy tries to pat him on the shoulder. “I will break your hand, have no doubt about that.”

 

“James,” Thomas says reproachfully, “We need his hands to carry these letters. Afterwards, though, you can do what you wish, my love. Though I’d watch out for Marcos, afterwards.”

 

Percy splutters, and James lets his foot run up Thomas’s calf, enjoying the way pink blooms over the top of Thomas’s cheekbones before he clears his throat, focusing on the papers once more. 

 

 

•••

 

 

The night before they plan on making their move, they don’t sleep much. James holds onto Thomas tightly, the other man’s head pillowed on James’s chest, as Thomas strokes comfortingly up and down his side. They both don’t talk about what might happen tomorrow, or what they could be sacrificing for the chance at freedom. 

 

“You had someone else, didn’t you?” Thomas asks him, his voice quiet. 

 

James pauses from where he had been aimlessly running his fingers through Thomas’s hair. “What do you mean?”

  
He can feel Thomas’s heartbeat, steady underneath his palms. “After Miranda,” Thomas says, and James swallows. He had told him about her a few nights after he had first arrived, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever think about her without a sharp, fresh waves of grief. 

 

Thomas continues, “You mentioned that you had someone who showed you a way, who brought you through your misery. Will you tell me about him?” 

 

James looks to where the candle is burning low, and he moves just enough to blow it out, so that they are in darkness. He thinks about the flash of blue eyes, of Madi’s warm smile, and although the pain recedes just a bit each time he touches Thomas, he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel fully whole without them, either. But perhaps, by telling him, he can begin to mend those holes in his life. 

 

“His name was John Silver,” James says, no longer able to see Thomas anymore, but is comforted by the hand that curls over his hip in response. “We met after he stole a schedule from me.”

 

 

•••

 

 

During supper, after one especially humid day, Thomas makes eye contact with James. He lets his spoon clatter off of the table, and the noise captures the attention of the guard, as well as some of the other men. 

 

James bends down to pick the utensil up, and that’s when Thomas unearths the blade in his sleeve, throwing it in a smooth, practiced motion right over where James’s head was, right into the chest of the guard at the wall.

 

It’s quick chaos then, as the men pull out concealed knives, making quick work of the guards in the room. The other inmates huddle for a moment, before some of them look determined, and without a word, start breaking the legs off the chairs, wielding them as makeshift weapons.

 

James pulls the knife out of the guard that Thomas had killed, looking at the other man with wide eyes for a moment that this was actually happening, as Thomas pulls him up with ease. James pulls out the gun from where it was tucked behind his shirt, swapping the knife in its place, and they exit the hall.

 

They meet Marcos and Percy coming out from the other end of the corridor. “Got three guards in the kitchen, but they got Samuel,” Percy says, bleeding from a shallow cut on his forehead as Marcos is stony-faced beside him. “I’d go out the front before the others realize what’s happening.” 

 

Thomas nods, his expression tightening at the loss of his friend, before clasping Percy’s arm. “Gentlemen,” he says, “It’s been an honor,” and Percy smiles, all blood, before he and Marcos charge down the hallway, the latter wielding a long sword with as much ease as any pirate James has ever seen. 

 

There’s shouting outside, and James steps between Thomas and the window instinctively. “We should hurry,” he says, “It won’t be long before-”

 

“We need to break those out who are in their cells right now,” Thomas says, determined, and James turns fast to face him.

 

“What?”

 

“That’s what Samuel was supposed to do. I won’t let another man be trapped here while we escape,” he says firmly, and James swallows before nodding. 

 

“Together, then,” he insists, and and Thomas nods in return. 

 

They hurry down the stairs to the underground level, where there are a few scattered rooms in what used to be an expansive pantry. James sets to work breaking open the doors, prying off handcuffs as Thomas sees several loaves of bread on the wall and takes a few of them, stuffing them into a small sack. 

 

There are loud footsteps overhead, then shouts, as James frees the men in the small cells. He glances up, then over at Thomas, before kicking down the last door. 

 

“Damn it,” Thomas says, craning his head to look through one of the small gaps that shines light down into the pantry. “Some of the guards have gotten away. They must have been patrolling nearly.”

 

“We’ll be gone soon,” James promises, snapping the handcuffs of another confused inmate, the last of the few. “Go now,” he tells the man, who starts to hurries to the stairs. “Thomas-”

 

There’s then footsteps coming down the stairs, and he turns back around a second too late, sees the guard with the gun coming down. James barely has the time to duck before a weight is barreling into him, knocking them both to the ground as the guard fires his gun. 

 

From his position on the ground, James sees the newly freed inmate wrap a thick arm around the guard’s neck, pulling him to the ground with a loud cry, before he registers the weight that’s slumped over him. “Thomas!” he shouts then, moving up until Thomas is in his lap instead.

 

There’s a sickening crack as the inmate kills the guard, before he scrambles up the stairs once more, but James is only focused on the man in front of him. The fear that courses through him sharpens his senses. _No no no-_

 

Thomas groans, clutching his arm, and James’s heart stops when he sees bright red blood slowly staining his shirt. “Fuck,” Thomas breathes out, blessedly conscious, then, “Are you all right?” 

 

James hisses as his hands scrabbling at the other man, trying to gauge the damage. “You’re the one _who just got shot_ -” but then he sees that the bullet was a clean hit through and through his upper arm, not a fatal wound. The relief is only temporary as he puts pressure on the wound, his hands sticky with blood. “I swear to God right now, I am never letting you out of that bed, you idiot!”

 

Thomas lets out a soft breath, pained as James applies pressure to the wound, looking around for something to tie his arm with. “Couldn’t let you get shot in the back now, could I?” he says smiling even though pain twists his features. 

 

“You absolutely should have let me be shot,” James argues with him, undoing his belt so that he can wrap it tightly around Thomas’s arm in the meantime. “I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again. Come on,” he says, and he pulls Thomas up with him, putting pressure on his wound, and Thomas scoops up his sack. “We need to get out of here.” 

 

Thomas staggers upright, and even though he looks pale, he’s still able to walk, and they make it up the stairs into the daylight. 

 

Above, there’s more chaos, men fleeing the plantation. Already, there’s smoke pluming from inside the main house, faint, and James watches with no small amount of satisfaction as a small group of men, with the use of one of the dining room tables, start to break down the gate at the far end of the property, the heavy seal being crushed with each blow. 

 

“We did it,” Thomas says then, even as there’s blood flecked on his neck and face, he looks amazed. 

 

“Let’s leave this place,” James tells him, and they both walk past the ruins of the gate, the metal warped from the force of the freed men. 

 

 

•••

 

 

They make their way north, and with every day that they are not caught, James feels more and more hope bloom in his chest. He feels invincible, the feeling magnified far beyond any of his previous victories- better than seeing Roger’s men fall in Nassau, or Rogers himself beaten, fallen to his knees on the deck of his ship- because Thomas is at his side now. 

 

Once they are far away from Savannah, the first bed they find is in an abandoned farmhouse, where James makes good his promises to keep Thomas in bed, although now mindful of his arm while he heals. James feels content in a way that he has not been for a very long time, every time he glances up and sees Thomas reading by candlelight, legs propped up in James’s lap. 

 

The first morning they wake up there, he wakes to find Thomas sitting at the foot of the bed. There are trails down his tears when he turns to face James, but he’s smiling, and James moves down to sit besides him, their legs pressed together. 

 

Thomas lets him put an arm around him, and eventually he reveals, “I woke up this morning and realized that I could walk out this door, go anywhere I want. But I don’t want to, because I chose to be here, and I’m free to be with you.” 

 

It’s staggering to James to consider because _of course_ , Thomas has been a prisoner in some ways for much longer than he ever was, so while he feels joyful at the freedom they have now, to live together, it must be tenfold for Thomas. He wants nothing more than to hold Thomas and let him cry into his shirt, and so he tugs at the other man lightly until he can hold him tightly, breathing in and out together. 

 

They intend to spend several weeks there, James waking up every morning with Thomas beside him as they sleeps. They keep their door unlocked and open, as a fresh breezes comes in from the window and ruffles his ever-growing hair. Thomas cards his hand through the tufts of red hair- brighter than they both remember- and true to his word, doesn’t laugh too much when James complains about it sticking up everywhere each morning. 

 

Weeks turn into months, as they both begin to realize that no one is coming after them. Thanks to the bullet wound, Thomas is still limited in movement with his one arm, so he often watches James work, as they plant a garden that provides them with just enough foodstuffs so they can limit walking to the nearby town. 

 

They’ll slowly relearn each other, come to grips with each other’s new histories, but they are together, and that is what matters. 

 

One morning, while James is rinsing off a dish from breakfast, Thomas says suddenly, “What if you sent a letter to Bristol?”

 

James pauses. “Bristol?” 

 

He knows what Thomas is thinking, though. He told Thomas about Silver and Madi, recalled to him a conversation when James was still so furious and in chains, being brought to Savannah and unbelieving of the miracle that awaited him there. Silver had revealed that he was thinking about taking Madi to Bristol with him, now that there was no use for a pirate king, and James had scoffed at him, still so angry. But now the conversation floats back into his memory, and he focuses on the dish in his hands.

 

Thomas sets down his book, comes up to stand besides him, leaning on the counter. “There’s space for two more here, don’t you think?” 

 

James can barely breathe with the possibility- because of course, he’s laid awake at night, thinking of how Madi would have liked the bookshelves he’s been planning on building in the front room, how Silver would enjoy resting underneath the apple tree in the back, where the sunlight filters through the leaves and provides a comfortable place to sit and tell stories. 

 

He sets down the plate, turns to Thomas. “I’m happy with you,” he says, and Thomas links his fingers in his. 

 

“I know that. But the heart can always grow to include more, if you wish,” he says, and James squeezes his hand.

 

He sends a letter the next morning, under an assumed name. He doesn’t know if the recipients will respond, that it’s a distant possibility that they would even receive it in the first place if they change names or never make it to Bristol. But rarer things have come into being, after all, and James thinks that he’s hopeful for this. 

 

 

•••

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I may have written a mini ficlet/list on percy and marcos because I got attached to them even though there is about 5 sentences about them)


End file.
